The Last Two
by AtomicLithium
Summary: A grand reappearance. Andrea/Daryl


Nothing compared to the feeling of watching Walkers infiltrate your fort and doing absolutely nothing about it.

At first, my protective instincts kicked in, telling me to go! Stop them from getting farther than the second gate! I held onto the white windowsill, the only window on the second floor of the house I buried myself in, until my knuckles became the same shade. I watched as a few dozen got through the front gate, gradually rising to numbers I couldn't estimate anymore. Even though catching the virus was at the bottom of my bucket list (don't ask me why it's on there in the first place), I would throw myself out of the window before I ever came close to being bitten. In fact, I already opened the window for that to happen. As planned.

I slid down the wall into the corner, reaching across my pack to the only thing I lived for now, Daryl's crossbow. My sniper rifle from Shane was another thing I reached around for.

Frantic, messy footsteps were now heard coming up the stairs. My heart raced faster as I clutched the weapons closer to my chest. A chuckle passed my lips in between the heavy breathing, I'm at my final moments and two weapons are the things I'm holding on for dear life. A crossbow in the left and a snipe in the right. Daryl and I.

There was rattling at my door, a Walker trying to get through. Thank God I locked it. At this point, Walkers were smart and strong enough to break down doors. Their evolution over the past three years was remarkably fast.

Bang! Bang! Rotten flesh beating against my door was enough to make me go crazy. As I held on to my sanity, I pushed my head into the corner, hoping I'd become some sort of ghost that can float through walls.

But of course not. I'm not a ghost. Unfortunately, the life I got handed was, in fact, human. Nothing could change that until my death, which was inevitably coming dangerously close.

I peeked through the slits of my eyes. I was careful not to shut them too tight, afraid that they might squeeze my eyes until they burst.

I let go of the weapons, watching them clatter on the wooden floor before standing up limply, pulling my spanking new Beretta M9 out of the back of my waistband. I felt like collapsing on the floor and waiting in the fetal position until my death. But I wasn't going down without a fight.

I glanced out of the window one last time, to the endlessly sunny skies of Oklahoma, to the Walkers still shuffling through the gates, to the balcony right outside the window where Daryl and I always sat and watched the sun set.

I wish I got to tell him goodbye.

I turned around cautiously and slumped myself on the windowsill, aiming my Beretta at the door. Slowly, but surely, the door started to creek open. After a few seconds, three of the Walkers walked through, making me swallow very hard. Once they noticed me, I closed my eyes and blindly aimed, shooting until my clip was empty. I still pulled the trigger though, counting how many quiet clicks I could hear.

Click after click after click after click.

I opened my eyes and stared in awe at 8 dead Walkers, all shot very, very accurately in their foreheads and upper necks.

But there were still more Walkers coming.

I slid my Beretta back in my waistband and grabbed the sniper rife and the crossbow, slinging the rifle over my back and tightly wrapping the strap of the crossbow on my hand.

Once again, I took aim for the door.

I had thought I was going to be dead by now.

A few spare arrows stuck out of the main pocket of my pack, and as soon as they attracted my attention, I immediately grabbed them and set them beside me.

I only had fourteen arrows left. The rest got broken or lost either in trees or in rivers. There had to be over fourteen Walkers.

More footsteps ravaged up the stairs and into the hall.

Once again, I closed my eyes and awaited my death.

It kinda felt like I was in front of a thousand people accepting a Grammy or some shit like that, the way my mind was sorting through all the people I didn't get to say anything to before their death or mine.

Thanks Carol for being my best friend, thanks Shane for letting me see my faults...

Thanks to Daryl, even though you deceived me bad enough that I didn't talk to you for half a year, you were always there when everybody else wasn't.

"You're welcome," I heard someone mutter behind me, and before I could bewilderedly spin around hard enough to make me go dizzy, he grabbed around my ribcage and yanked me out of the window.

I heard screaming. I realized it was me screaming.

I felt kicking and thrashing around. I realized that was me too.

I still tried to escape the strangers grasp as he carried me down the Victorian-style braces that held the balcony.

"Stop squirming unless you wanna fall 9 feet straight to cement!" the man yelled. I still kicked until his words actually got to my brain.

Hey, I recognized that hillbilly accent.

"Merle?" I asked as he set me down, hoping that it wasn't Merle but still glad that it was somebody. I spun around to face my rescuer; bloody and bruised didn't even cover it.

"Like his fat ass could get up there," Daryl laughed and watched my eyes widen to the size of saucers. Since I was too shocked to say (or do) anything, he took a step forward, putting us three inches from touching chests. I expected him to kiss me, but instead, he carefully unraveled his crossbow from my sweaty, clenched hand.

My mouth was going dry, so I shut it.

"How... Did you..." I stammered, looking down at where we stood. It was the cemented patio right below the balcony, complete with a cute brass wind chime I stole from the Echters across town and a sliding glass door. There were no Walkers in the living room; they must've all been confused upstairs.

"That doesn't matter," he softly said, lifting up my chin, "but we better get outta here before they figure out how to work the wooden gate."

He gestured toward the entrance to the wooden fenced area that acted like a safe spot just in case we needed to escape from the top floor. Never thought we'd actually need it.

I smiled charmingly and ran my way to the closest edge of the six footed wooden fence, forcefully kicking my right leg up to the middle of the wood and grabbing the top. I peeked over the edge, towards the barbed wire first fence and the seven foot high wrought iron secondary fence. The entrance was left open on the first and a giant hole in the second.

"Jesus Christ! The gates are fucking fried." I yelled, using every muscle in my neck to glance back at Daryl. I hurled myself off the fence and stood to face Daryl.

The gates out of the property were purposely facing the back of the house. It was facing the forest and away from the street. Our theory was that the original owners really liked the outdoors, there was a weed garden somewhere deep in the forest, or they wanted to be shut out from the world. We were kinda rooting on the second option.

"How much time do you think we have?" Daryl asked sensuously, walking to me as I was walking to him.

"Fuck you Daryl, for scaring the shit out of me," I sneered half jokingly, biting my lower lip and wrapping my arms around his when we collided. I felt the tender skin under his pullover hoodie and furrowed my eyebrows, inspecting his arms and hands further.

It wasn't until I pulled up his sleeves that I realized how bad of a condition he was in.

Several bruises ranging from small dots to golf ball sized were scattered on his elbows and wrists, nasty and possibly infected abrasions lined his biceps and one deep wound was slashed across his right lower arm.

"S' not bad," he self consciously said, pulling his arms away from my grasp and pulling down his sleeves. I watched in disgust when he cringed as the cloth stuck to his wounds.

"Were…" I paused to swallow, "were you bit?"

"What?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows and shaking his head. I unconsciously took a step backwards when he didn't give me the answer I was hoping for, my feet freezing in place as soon as I knew what I did.

Daryl froze in place too, first narrowing his eyes then widening them.

"No," he shook his head violently, "no, no."

"No, what?" I asked hysterically, backing away more when he still tried to comfort me. "Are you fucking but or not!?"

"I'm not bit!" he yelled, catching up to me and wrapping his hands around my waist. I refrained from weeping into his shoulder. "I'm not bit. If I were, I woulda offed myself long ago."

Before I patched him up, I stayed in the same position for a long time. My greatest fear was being alone in this world, and when Amy died, I was convinced she was the only one that could've rescued me from my own thoughts. When Daryl and I were the only ones left in the group, I realized he wasn't that bad to hang around. _I'm... almost glad I fell in love with him_, I chuckled to myself.


End file.
